Chapter 12 - Cooper
Cooper
Well, here I am. Back in my own personal hell. You’d think I’d either learn to stop doing this or at least be better at it. But no. Once again, I’m locked in the psych ward, surrounded by a delightful group of people.
There’s no question as to why most of them are here.
Blonde Barbie sitting on the couch is practically a skeleton.
Talkative Terry is huddled in the corner arguing with air.
Picky Patty has a bald spot the size of Texas.
And Itchy Ian has been scratching his arms and neck and pacing for the past three hours.
I know I’m being a bitch. It’s a defense mechanism.
So sue me. Besides, I’m not wrong. I mean, seriously, people, must we be so obvious?
Have a little mystery about you. Like me.
Am I suicidal? Homicidal? A full-blown psycho?
I like to think you’d never know just by looking at me.
But let’s be honest—the long sleeves in the summer are a dead giveaway.
Dr. Krazinski walks over to me, and I jump up, willing to submit myself to his tender mercies just to escape the hell that is the dayroom. “Mr. Sorenson, glad to see you are eager for our session.”
“Not to burst your bubble, Doc, but I couldn’t care less about talking to you. It’s just that anything beats hanging around here. Having to watch them all day is driving me crazy.” I smirk, but apparently my humor is lost on the doc, who remains as stoic as always.
We enter his office, which is surprisingly inviting.
The deep green walls and low lighting are calming.
The chairs are as soft as a cloud, and don’t get me started on the variety of throw blankets available.
Dr. Krazinski may be a bit cold, but his office is a warm hug.
I plop down in the chair after grabbing my favorite blanket, glad that nobody else decided to use it today, or else it would be in the laundry.
“So, Mr. Sorenson—”
“Cooper, please. I hate my last name,” I interrupt, allowing a little information to slip out for the first time since we met two weeks ago.
“Cooper, then,” Dr. Krazinski says. “I had a different question, but since you’ve opened this door, I think it’s important that we continue down this path.”
Fuck.
“What is it about your last name that you hate?”
I find myself biting at my nails, a habit I thought I’d broken years ago.
I contemplate lying, but then an image of Teddy pops into my head.
The longer I resist treatment, the longer it will be before I get to go home.
I’ve already missed so much time with him.
Maybe I can do this. It would be nice to not feel like I was suffocating all the time, and something about Dr. Krazinski feels different from all of my previous psychologists.
I decide to try to trust, just a little, and hope it doesn’t come back to bite me in the ass later.
“My last name reminds me of every single person that has hurt me. My mother. My father. My u—him.” I’m unwilling to assign him a title that he does not deserve, even if it is his biologically.
Dr. Krazinski holds my gaze briefly so I can see the moment he chooses not to push. He’s smarter than I gave him credit for. “Which of those people, if any, would you be willing to talk about today?”
Choice. He’s giving me a choice—something that has been taken from me far too many times in my twenty-six years. It seems letting the doc in wasn’t a mistake after all. Not yet anyway. Pushing down my inherent pessimism, I respond. “We can talk about my mother.”
“Why do you refer to her so formally?”
“She is nothing more than the woman that birthed me. The title ‘Mom’ was given to another woman almost twenty years ago. A woman who loved me when she didn’t have to.”
“I see. Thank you for helping me to better understand. Why don’t we start our session with your biological mother and finish it up with the mother of your heart?
I think it’s important to finish with something that brings you joy.
” Dr. Krazinski’s smile is kind and encouraging, not all condescending like my previous therapists, who would have been acting like they were doing me some kind of favor.
After some consideration, I nod and begin.
“My mother was…complicated. More often than not, she was high, and she only had two parenting styles: mean and uninvolved. Her world began and ended with my father. When their relationship was going well, meaning they had a plentiful supply of drugs, it was like I didn’t even exist. She had no room in her world for anyone that wasn’t Wade Sorenson.
When their relationship was on the rocks, suddenly I was remembered, but only because I provided her with an outlet for her anger.
“Her abuse was never physical. That was more my father’s style.
No, hers was worse. Annie Sorenson was a master at making me feel like absolute trash.
Like dog shit was worth more than me. To her, I was ‘useless’ and ‘stupid’ and ‘a waste of good money.’ That last bit is actually how Teddy and I became friends, which led me to Mom.
” I smile, the memories of the day I met Teddy running through my head.
“What are you thinking about that is making you smile?” Dr. Krazinski asks, interrupting my reminiscing.
“I was almost seven when I first met Teddy. I asked him to be my best friend because he said he’d have his mom make me a birthday cake.
” I can see the confusion on Doc’s face.
“I’d never had a birthday cake before. According to my…
Annie, I wasn’t worth the expense,” I explain.
“Teddy and his mom, who basically adopted me as her own, made sure that I never went without a birthday cake again. Until I moved, that is.”
“How old were you when you moved?” Doc asks.
“I was a couple weeks shy of turning fourteen when my parents overdosed behind the Piggly Wiggly. Afterwards, I was sent to Nebraska to live with my father’s brother.” I can feel my walls coming up.
Dr. Krazinski must notice as well, because he gives me an out.
“We don’t have to talk about him just yet.
We can wait until you are ready to open those wounds.
” He moves the conversation to a topic that’s easier to handle.
“Will you tell me about your mom?” Sensing my hesitation, he adds, “Please?” Damn, he’s good.
“Nyla Davenport…Mom…was a godsend” I begin.
“Teddy introduced me to his mom for the first time the day after we met. He dragged me to his house when he heard my stomach growling. Mom didn’t even hesitate.
She took one look at me and said, ‘It’s nice to meet you, Cooper.
How do you feel about peanut butter and jelly?
’ She made us both lunch and sat with us, radiating happiness, while we ate.
“When lunch was over and we were getting ready to head back outside, Mom gave us both a hug. I burst into tears almost as soon as her arms wrapped around me, because I couldn’t remember the last time, if ever, I had been shown affection.
It startled her, and she tried to let go, already apologizing, thinking I didn’t like being touched.
When I squeezed her tighter, unable to form the words, she lowered us both to the floor and just held me.
She held me until my tears dried, while Teddy sat beside us, holding my hand.
“From that day on, I was always welcome in the Davenport household. I was always introduced as her bonus son. She bandaged skinned knees, scolded me when I got into fights, and taught me what it was like to love and be loved in return. It’s been thirteen years since I last saw her, and it hurts just as much as it did the day I told them goodbye. ”
I become aware of my position. At some point, while I was talking, I must have drawn my legs up because I’m hugging my shins with my chin resting on my knees.
I smile with nostalgia because this is the exact position I would sit in when Mom and I had one of our “talks.” We could chat for hours about anything and everything, from school to bugs to TV shows.
It’s only now as an adult that I realize how special Mom really was—is—to have taken that time out of her day to give me the space to express myself freely.
“It sounds like you are very fond of your mom and Everett,” Dr. Krazinski says.
“They were my family. My whole world, really. The love that I have for them is endless,” I sigh.
“So, why has it been thirteen years since you last saw them? You’ve been an adult for eight, almost nine years now. What has kept you from them?” he asks.
It’s a reasonable question. One that anyone would ask after hearing the way that I talk about the two of them.
I would almost write it off as innocent, but like I said, Dr. Krazinski is good at his job.
He knows there’s something keeping me from them, but I’m not ready to open Pandora’s box just yet.
Breaking eye contact, I focus on the stain in the carpet beside the leg of Dr. Krazinski’s desk. The one imperfection in the room. A mess, just like me. “I thought we were supposed to finish on something that brings me joy,” I deflect.
“Fair enough, Cooper. I did say that, and I like to keep my word. I hope that soon, you will choose to share what it is that you keep locked away. We can’t keep avoiding your trauma forever. If you hope to make real progress, it will need to be addressed.” Doc pauses, letting his words sink in.
“I know. Trust me, I know, and I really do want to work through it all. You seem like a real good doctor. I’ve told you more today than I shared with my last three therapists combined.
When it comes to my ‘trauma,’ as you call it, I’m just not ready yet.
It’s big, Doc. Real big, and it weighs me down, so I constantly feel like I’m drowning.
Reopening that wound may actually kill me in my current state. ”
“Okay. I hear your boundaries, and I will respect them. I am very happy to see that you know your limits, and even happier to know that you will enforce said limits. Just know that when the time comes, I will push, and I will push hard, but I will also be here to help you pick up the pieces. Until then, why don’t we call it a day? ”
Dr. Krazinski stands, and I follow suit. We cross over to the door. Only then do I realize that I’m still clinging to the blanket. “Why don’t you take that with you, and just bring it back the next time we visit?” he offers.
“Thanks, Doc.” I start down the hall before stopping. Dr. Krazinski is still standing in his doorway when I turn back. “For everything.”